Chapter 3
THREE
Katya
If things had gone the way my father intended, I would be driving toward Kazan Cathedral for my wedding.
Many of our Bratva associates choose the more opulent St. Isaac's for their important ceremonies but my family has always favoured the older church.
I suspect that's because of its visibility.
An event staged at the grand historic church on the Nevsky Prospekt is guaranteed to gain a lot of attention.
Having bystanders craning their necks for a look as my father and I arrived with a fleet of armoured cars would appeal to him.
He'd have forced me into some hideously overblown dress for the occasion and draped me in enough diamonds to outshine the sun.
When I was young and na?ve enough to believe in fairytales that would have been my dream.
Now the thought of being paraded around like a prize pig turns my stomach.
Instead of becoming a spectacle for the whole of St. Petersburg, I'm doing things Gabriele Volante's way. His understated approach feels alien to me but I can't say I hate it. Under the circumstances, I prefer the lack of fuss.
When Maria showed me up to my bedroom, I found my wedding dress hanging on the closet door.
A floor-length ivory silk sheath, it clings to my curves.
The neckline is high at the front and low at the back.
There's a pretty lace trim. It's demure yet sexy at the same time.
It fits perfectly, as do the four-inch heels that complement it.
Maria helped me to zip it up, then gave me a maternal pat on the arm.
Though it wasn't much, it was actually more than I could have hoped for from my own mother.
What surprised me almost as much as the dress was finding the suitcase I brought with me from St. Petersburg in the closet.
Someone must have fetched it from the Four Seasons where Niamh and I stayed last night.
There was barely any time for them to do that.
My fate was clearly decided before I even left Russia.
Part of me finds it frightening that everything has been taken out of my hands.
I came into this situation assuming I had some control but Gabriele soon disabused me of that notion.
Letting him take the reins is both terrifying and strangely comforting.
For the first time in ages I feel like someone is taking care of me.
I know, deep down, it's just him making sure his shiny new possession doesn't come to any harm, but right now I can't bring myself to care.
Perhaps my view of the situation is too rosy but I have to believe everything will work out. After months of acting, reacting and trying to stay one step ahead of disaster, I don't object to him taking over as much as I usually would. I just wish it wasn't all happening so fast.
As we pull into a narrow street, I notice four men in dark suits stationed at the end.
They're not obviously armed but I'm sure each of them is carrying a weapon.
The car stops about halfway along the street, outside a small church tucked between two ochre buildings.
Stone steps lead up to a heavy wooden door.
Despite the trepidation washing over me, I take a moment to admire its charm.
Somewhere in the distance a bell tolls, a low, resonant note perfectly timed to herald my arrival.
Lukas gets out of the car and comes to open my door.
He's been chatting with the driver in rapid-fire Italian for the last fifteen minutes and the only word I picked up was ragazza, which I'm pretty sure means girl.
They might have been talking about me but I guess if I want to know for sure when I'm being discussed, I'll need to learn the language.
"Signorina." Lukas holds a hand out to me.
I take a moment to try to reconcile myself to what's happening. Though this was what I came here for, things have slipped completely from my control. Am I making a terrible mistake? Gabriele Volante is a dangerous man and I know nothing about him.
"Katya," Lukas says, more insistent now.
For the second time today, I take his hand and let him help me from the car. As I stumble on the old, uneven stones beneath my feet, he catches my arm and steadies me.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Can't bring you to Gabriele with bruises all over you."
It's a stark reminder that people will now view me as something to protect for Gabriele's sake and not my own. I almost laugh at the disappointment that causes. When has it ever been different for me?
Lukas leads me up the steps and into a small entrance area where Niamh is waiting. She looks me over and smiles.
"The dress is stunning."
"Did you choose it?" I ask, wondering just how complicit she is in this whole ambush wedding situation.
"Gabriele did," Lukas says.
"Gabriele?"
"He has a good eye, doesn't he?" Niamh says as she examines me once more.
"Just the one," Lukas says before chuckling.
Niamh shakes her head as Lukas saunters off down the aisle, leaving me unsure how to react to the remark.
Should I be appalled? Probably, but I also find it reassuring.
If Lukas is comfortable joking about Gabriele’s scars, perhaps the man who’s about to become my husband is less forbidding than he first appears.
"Lukas and Gabriele are like brothers. They don't tiptoe around each other." Niamh reaches out to adjust the lace at my neckline, where a piece has tucked under itself. "If they seem insensitive at times, ignore it."
"I'm used to tactless men, believe me."
Niamh gives me a sympathetic smile. As I look at her I realise she's wearing the same pretty floral dress she had on when she dropped me off at Gabriele's villa.
It doesn't scream bridesmaid but it isn't business casual either.
The dress is something you might wear to a summer garden party.
It firms up my suspicions she had some pre-warning this wedding was going to happen.
"Did you know he planned this?" I ask.
To her credit, there is a hint of apology in her expression. "Gabriele doesn't waste time when he knows what he wants."
"And what about me?"
She lays a hand on my arm. "Katya, you knew what you wanted from the moment you first approached me. You need Gabriele and the protection he brings. You want his wealth and influence and perhaps now you've met him, a part of you just might want the man himself."
There is no way I'll admit that when Gabriele's gaze moves over me, it leaves my skin tingling in its wake.
"But it's moving so fast."
Niamh shoots me a look that suggests she thinks I'm being na?ve. "You know how things are with men like him."
Yes, I do, and I understand that in our world rushed weddings happen all the time, sometimes at gunpoint. I guess I should be grateful I'm not being marched down the aisle by one of Gabriele's soldiers.
"I know, but I expected a day or two."
Niamh shakes her head. "Given Orlov's presence in the city, it wouldn't be safe to delay."
She glances toward the front of the church where Gabriele has now joined Lukas. His back is to me but the way he stands, tall and unflinching, tells me he isn't having the same doubts I am.
"If you're worried about the wedding night, you could ask him for more time," Niamh suggests.
"I'm not worried about that." I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. "Should I be?"
"No," Niamh assures me. "I've known Gabriele a long time. He's a decent man. Well, at least he is where women are concerned."
"I hope you're right."
"I am." Niamh purses her lips as she studies my expression, which no doubt betrays my scepticism and apprehension.
"Listen, Katya, if you're good to Gabriele I'm sure he'll be good to you.
He's a controlling asshole at times but he didn't deserve what happened to him and I'd hate to think he's being treated badly. "
"This is a warning?" I ask.
"It is. If you hurt him I will see to it that you end up in the nastiest, filthiest hellhole I can find." Niamh smooths down her skirt as though she didn't just threaten me. "But I don't think that will happen, Katya. I put you two together for a reason. In time, you'll make a formidable duo."
I snort at that. "What, like Batman and Robin?"
Niamh shakes her head. "I can't imagine you as anyone's sidekick."
Before I have time to analyse that comment, she offers me her arm.
"Shall we do this properly?"
I link my arm with hers and we walk into the church. It's cool inside the building, which is a relief because the heat, even in the shade of the vestibule, was killing me. There's a musty smell in the air. Damp, I think. It's not too unpleasant, just a background note I'd rather wasn't there.
A red carpet has been laid along the aisle, across an old stone floor.
There are rows of wooden pews on either side.
It's sad to see the church so empty but I can't think of a single person I'd want to fill those seats.
My father has lost my respect in recent months and my mother never had it.
She's too concerned with her own position to give a shit about mine.
As Niamh and I reach the altar, Gabriele turns.
He reaches over to the nearest seat and retrieves a bouquet of pink peonies which he hands to me.
I don't have the heart to tell him I should have had them to carry down the aisle.
Instead I accept them as the small gesture of kindness I think he means them to be.
I allow myself a smile. Pink peonies. Did he choose them himself or send some lackey to a florist to ask for something bridal?
His eye moves over me once, briefly, before he looks away. Whatever he thinks of the image I present in this swathe of ivory silk, he keeps it locked behind his inscrutable facade.
"Begin," he tells the priest.